


Just Tea Now

by endless_symphony



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, John reflects on his life now without Sherlock, M/M, Post Reichenbach, and also for the writing, author is sorry about the tags, first fanfic, sort of based off of the poem "Tea for Two(A Tragedy)"
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-06
Updated: 2013-02-06
Packaged: 2017-11-28 10:56:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/673616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/endless_symphony/pseuds/endless_symphony
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John reflects on his life since Sherlock fell.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just Tea Now

**Author's Note:**

> I'm really sorry if there's any mistakes, this is un-beta'd. It's also my very first attempt at writing a fanfic for publication. Also disclaimer- I did not write Tea for Two, the credit for that poem goes to Pamela August Russel. Feedback and comments would be super appreciated!

Just Tea Now

Sherlock’s death changed everything.

John liked to pretend that it didn’t. He liked to try and fool himself and say that it doesn’t feel like he’s lost his soul, his motivation to continue, on the off chance that it might make it easier to go through the motions of living each day without him. But saying that, even just to himself, was a lie. From the moment John looked up on the street of St.Barts and answered that phone call, everything changed. Even if Sherlock hadn’t fell, and John does indeed believe that Sherlock fell as opposed to jumped, things still would’ve changed from the events leading up to it. He fell because even though nobody was physically behind him pushing him directly off, he was still pushed. John refuses to believe that it was because people thought he was a fake, that’s rubbish-Sherlock doesn’t…didn’t care what normal people thought and John would never be convinced that Sherlock was a fake so it was not society that pushed him. John doesn’t know what happened on that roof, but damn what Sherlock tried to convince John otherwise, Moriarty or not, it was Sherlock’s heart that pushed him. It was his love for his friends, and he does have them, that pushed him and there was nothing to be done about that now. Friends protect people and Sherlock protected John and what kills him again every morning when he wakes up without him is that John couldn’t protect him. If Moriarty hadn’t shot out his brains on that roof already, John would go and do it for him for putting him in that position. Sherlock was John’s everything and John was his soldier and John was suppose to protect him, whether it was from some murderer on a case, Sherlock himself or even the nightmares that John kept at bay by encasing him safely in his embrace. There’s no one for John to protect now and unless Sherlock answers his prayer for a miracle, there won’t ever be again. It’s funny really in the way that’s not actually humorous at all just instead sad and pathetic, John went from just being alive and going through the motions to finally living to then being dead and just going through the motions. Everything he does now, no matter how mundane or intricate, means nothing. Not that everything was oh so meaningful before, but it did mean something. Cooking wasn’t just making a dish, it was making sure Sherlock ate something even if John had to force him because otherwise he’d just let himself starve. Getting dressed wasn’t just a thoughtless act, he actually had to take the time and think about whether or not his outfit would be able to withstand running around in the brisk London air later that night after Sherlock inevitably dragged him away from his practice. Everything used to be done for a reason, for Sherlock, now John just does the bare minimum that he must to stay socially acceptable(almost) and alive. Not that he’d mind dying per say, he had contemplated it at first but John wouldn’t want to disappoint Sherlock and be predictable. So instead, he lives. He’s not alive but he tries to pretend. Sometimes he forgets though and finds himself pouring two cups of tea when there’s only need for one. That’s the hardest part, John thinks. Looking at those cups knowing that now it will always be just tea, not a relaxing cuppa for when a case has been draining or a morning greeting before he goes to work and Sherlock goes to experiment. Just tea now, he realizes every time he has to pour out that second cup and the remberance that he is alone now kills him all over again.


End file.
